


So Long as the Sun Burns

by heavnofhell



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 07:40:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11573457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavnofhell/pseuds/heavnofhell
Summary: Lucifer is more grateful for Sam than he's ever been for anything or anyone in his existence, but that doesn't mean things are always perfect.





	So Long as the Sun Burns

Sometimes the pain is too much. Whether it’s physical, the pungent memory of his unjust sentence, or something else altogether, it doesn’t really matter. It’s there, and it tugs and burns and cuts at him, as though his wings are being torn apart all over again, consumed by the fires of Hell and ripped to shreds by the teeth of the cage. It’s there, and it’s real enough, but Lucifer? Lucifer bears pain, and this is no different. 

He shoulders his burden, and he speaks not a word of it to Sam. The man needs no more reason to worry, and really, it isn’t lying if the man never asks. Does that mean Sam doesn’t know? There is little that Sam Winchesters overlooks, and even less where it concerns the Archangel. 

When Lucifer is quiet, when his eyes lack their usual spark, and are, instead, filled with the tired, glossy shadows of discomfort, it does not go unnoticed. When the Archangel seems restless, or when he sits still and silent for hours on end, Sam does not miss it. 

Still, he says nothing. Lucifer has his pride, damned as it may be, and the hunter will not betray him by pointing out his obvious anguish. But he sees the way Lucifer bows his head - the way his muscles shift and twitch beneath his skin. He doesn’t say a word - Sam’s always had a preference for action, anyway. 

The first time he moved quietly behind the silent Archangel, hands sliding up slowly beneath the thin t-shirt clinging to his curved back, he found himself muttering a quiet and sincere apology, Lucifer’s pained flinch causing his chest to tighten in regret. But the Archangel relaxed almost immediately, though a tension yet caused his muscles to lightly tremble beneath Sam’s warm hands.

Of course Sam didn’t miss Lucifer’s agony, but that his own, light touch could create such a reaction was a greater blow than he’d expected, and he closed his eyes and pressed his forehead into the soft hair on the back of the Archangel’s head, pressing a kiss to his top vertebrae in accompaniment to the words of remorse. 

Lucifer bows his head a little more, shaking it subtly in dismissal of the apology. But he does not speak, and every missed opportunity to hear that inarguably strong yet impossibly delicate voice grace the air around him feels like a little failure to the hunter. 

“Lucifer -” He whispers the holy name against the nape of the Archangel’s neck, his hands trailing further up his back, lifting the material of the shirt as he goes. “I’m sorry, but could you?” He removes his fingers from the cool skin of Lucifer’s back, gripping loosely at the shirt in lieu of a verbal explanation.

The Archangel remains painfully still a moment longer, before nodding again, lifting his arms up and allowing Sam to rise up on his knees, the mattress shifting beneath him as he lifts the fabric up over Lucifer’s head, tossing it carelessly to the floor as he watches the angel lower his arms again, his entire body vibrating from the discomfort he is trying so hard to conceal. 

 He pauses a moment before returning his hands to the smooth flesh, his lips parting in silent surprise when he sees the scratch marks along Lucifer’s upper back, faint, of course, the Archangel healing far quicker than any human. But he can see them, and it makes him wonder how deep they may have been, or how often Lucifer has reopened the self-inflicted wounds, and whether or not he has done so intentionally, or unknowingly. 

Sam’s fingertips trace the marks with a touch lighter than a butterfly’s feet, mapping out each and every symbol of the pain that makes up so much of what this brilliant and beautiful creature has become. When he has finished, he dips his head down, following the same path with his lips, the gentlest kisses falling upon the cool skin with love and sorrow and protectiveness. 

A quiet, unsteady exhalation leaves Lucifer’s mouth, but Sam continues, his hands resting lightly upon the Archangel’s hips as he finishes out his silent exploration, lifting his head at last and pressing one last kiss to the base of Lucifer’s neck. He shifts again, moving carefully to the head of the bed, leaning against the headboard and reaching a hand out toward his other half. 

“Come here.” He tilts his head when the sapphire gaze meets his own, his voice just above a whisper as he offers a little nod of encouragement. “Please.” 

Lucifer watches Sam calmly, but the tightness around his mouth and eyes is clearly evident to the hunter, so he is relieved when the Archangel returns the small nod, pulling his legs up onto the mattress and crawling the short distance to Sam. As soon as he is within reach, the man opens his arms, beckoning Lucifer forward. This time, his hesitation is nearly negligible, and the Archangel eases himself carefully and willingly into the awaiting arms, his own reaching around Sam’s middle as his head finds a place upon Sam’s strong shoulder. 

It’s almost unsettling how readily Lucifer seems to just give up on the facade he’d been holding for days, as though he’d been waiting all of this time for the permission to admit that something was wrong. It breaks Sam’s heart a little more, but he presses his lips together and bites the inside of his cheek, thankful that Lucifer can’t see his eyes, because he can feel them burning and he doesn’t want the Archangel to abandon his own comfort in favor of the hunter’s. 

Instead, Sam takes a deep breath, his hands falling lightly to Lucifer’s sides as he turns his head and presses a kiss to the unruly blond hair. He can feel the Archangel’s heart beating against his own, and it feels like another blessing. As his fingers begin, once more, to trace lightly up and down the trembling muscles of Lucifer’s back, a quiet whisper of gratitude falls against the crook of his neck, and he steels himself again, leaning down and pressing a kiss to Lucifer’s shoulder. 

“I’ve got you, Luce.” He wishes there were something more he could say or do to reassure the Archangel, but despite what Lucifer says of him, he is just a man, and his reach is limited. Even so, that won’t stop him from protecting this abandoned Son of Heaven, even if it is only from his own, tortured mind. 

“I’ll always catch you.” 


End file.
